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STILL THE GIRL LISTENED; THE NOTES FLOWED ON 


STELLA 

A SKETCH 


BY 

NATHANIEL GORDON 


Copyrighted 1910 by Nathaniel Gordon 






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* 


STELLA 


I N the sunny shelter of a range of hills that 
lift their crests into mountains there lies a 
wide farm. 

Once its owner was a middle-aged man. 
Father and grandfather had dwelt there 
before him, and by their hands had been set 
the long rows of saplings whose branches now 
overarched avenues of shade. 

Perchance a heart’s idol, false to her faith, 
had embittered the youth of this holder of 
lands; for not until the noonday of life, after 
wanderings various beyond the seas, had he 
returned to make abode on the broad acres of 
childhood and chosen a helpmate to grace his 
home. The bride was an orphan of gentle 
birth, bringing no portion save a mother’s few 
gems, yet a dream of loveliness. But when, 
after the long, troublous hours of a certain 
night, to the sylph-like young consort her 
first-born had come, the vigilant old doctor, 

[^1 


STELLA 

who bent anxiously over her, shook his head 
mournfully. 

The curtain had been brushed aside from 
the window and the light of a morning star 
stole in. Did the sufferer think of that other 
star that once “stood over” the cradle of a 
babe ? For, like the touch of an angel, a 
radiance suffused her languorous features, and 
she whispered: 

“Call her Stella.” 

Then, with the little one’s breath on her 
bosom, the mother slept. 

Hours sped by, the star again shone down — 
the mother still slept. She had gone— to 
shine; perhaps as a star. 

But Stella lived. Day by day the child still 
thrived. No illness overtook her, no blight 
marred her bloom. The seasons chased each 
other away. A merry, rosy, romping little 
maiden was Stella. She frisked with the 
lambs and carolled with the birds; and when, 
at the close of a long summer day, the little 
girl would meander home from the fields, 
crowned with a chaplet of gay wild flowers, 
and climb upon her father’s knee, the fond 
parent would listen delighted, as, flushed with 
[ 6 ] 


STELLA 


health, his darling rehearsed her list of ad- 
ventures, until at the very height of the prattle 
her eager eyes would suddenly droop, a 
shower of locks fall on his arm, and Inno- 
cence slept. Then the devout father would 
bow his head above the slumbering child and 
breathe thanks to God for this little star. 

The years glided by. The large part of 
these years Stella had spent on the farm ; for 
she dearly loved the old homestead sleeping 
so peacefully amidst the hills. Besides, the 
girl knew how dependent her father’s happi- 
ness was upon her presence. Sometimes he 
would urge her to cross the ocean and visit 
abroad ; for, as the fruit of earlier investments 
in distant climes, this retired old gentleman 
possessed liberal means. But not for a mo- 
ment was Stella deceived by the parent’s 
feigned content with the picture of his off- 
spring touring afar. Ready though he was to 
make any sacrifice for her sake, the daughter 
well knew how grievous a trial her absence 
would bring him. 

“It would break my heart to say farewell; 
I am nowhere so happy as here,” she would 
say. “There is no place like home; no com- 

m 


STELLA 


pany for me like yours, father, dear,” and 
Stella would caress the parent beloved, im- 
printing impetuous kisses, first on one cheek, 
then on the other, just as she always had done 
since a little girl she sat on his knee, her lap 
strewn with flowers. 

The owner of this highland farm was an 
ardent admirer of fine animals. His daugh- 
ter inherited the taste. Since the first time 
she knelt before the glowing fire, warming 
a wee, chilled, and motherless lamb, 
some gentle creature had been always near 
her. 

On her fifteenth birthday her father had 
presented Stella with a dainty foal born that 
same morning on the farm and of famous an- 
cestry. Vastly pleased with the high-bred pet, 
Stella might have been seen several times 
daily tripping down through the pasture to 
regale the infant with morsels of sweets. The 
colt, increasing in size and spirit, had dis- 
played strong affection for her young mistress. 
Now well grown, the fleet, mettlesome crea- 
ture, Bess by name, manifested dislike to any 
other rider. Under her mistress’s rein only 
was she docile. 


[ 8 ] 



THUS MOUNTED AND GUARDED, THE HIGHLAND MAIDEN 
ROAMED THE WILD, PICTURESQUE GLADES AT WILL 






STELLA 


Another favorite, a St. Bernard dog, in- 
variably attended Stella on her rides and 
rambles. Thus mounted and guarded, the 
highland maiden roamed the wild, pictur- 
esque glades at will. The exercise gave 
health to her body, with roses the fresh breeze 
mantled her cheeks, while ever dearer grew 
the proud paintings the hand of Nature hung 
in the mountain galleries overlooking her 
home. 

Not far from the farm, in a vale among the 
sheltering hills, rose a queenly chapel, the 
memorial of the early departed mother, erect- 
ed by the father forlorn. The pastor had 
joined in wedlock the father and the youth- 
ful mother, had baptized the daughter, and 
now rarely missed from his congregation 
Stella’s modest face on Sunday morning. 
Childless himself, the good man had taken to 
his heart this motherless lamb, permitting 
her, when just budding in her teens, the free- 
dom of his library, directing her studies, and 
even devoting a few leisure moments to in- 
structing her in Latin. Hours the privileged 
pupil, insensible of the lapse of time, had 
whiled away amongst the shelves. 

[ 9 ] 


STELLA 


“Store your mind; read history, child,” 
the pastor had been wont in earlier years to 
say, placing a ponderous tome in his favor- 
ite’s small hands. Stella would bravely 
grasp the volume, bury her face in its wide 
leaves, and studiously follow the long lines 
with her finger, until her preceptor’s atten- 
tion was absorbed by his text, when she would 
softly substitute for it some book of romance, 
laughing gleefully an hour later, as the grave 
man awoke from his reverie and discovered 
the deceit. 

In all the township no one was so conspic- 
uous in benevolence and good works as this 
zealous pastor. Familiar with the scattered 
dwellings, he knew each family by name, and 
was a constant visitor of the sick and the 
distressed. As the pastor rode about intent 
on these errands, Stella was often his com- 
panion. Her acquaintance thus extended to 
a number of the poor, and the girl had fallen 
into the habit of making frequent calls, un- 
accompanied, upon those to whom in this 
way she had become endeared and to whom 
her presence was always grateful. Now it 
had come about that a babe could hardly be 
[ 10 ] 


STELLA 


born within miles but Stella must be early at 
the scene, to bend over the cradle and lift 
the tiny hand and peep into the wondering 
eyes; and when sometimes in the home of 
lowliness a little innocent closed its eyes for- 
ever, Stella perhaps would be the only mourner 
to weep with the weeping mother, and with 
her to follow the plain casket to its resting- 
place, dropping tears with flowers on the 
grave. 

One evening Stella was riding near the 
chapel, when through the forest aisles majes- 
tic strains of the organ were wafted to her 
ear. Drawing nearer, the girl reined in her 
horse and listened. Sweetly the organ lifted 
up its voice from the sylvan dell in which it 
reposed. Stella had not heard such notes 
before. “Some stranger visiting the chapel,” 
she mused. “Like one inspired, he plays.” 

Still the girl listened; the notes flowed on, 
growing richer, grander, and more trans- 
porting, as they rolled upward and drifted 
away. The music ceased. In a moment a 
young man appeared at the chapel door. A 
slender riding- whip rose and fell. The rapt 
listener was speeding homeward. 

in] 


STELLA 


At church on the following Sunday, with 
surprised delight, Stella recognized in the 
unwonted melody of the organ’s strains the 
same master hands on the keys of the instru- 
ment, and later caught a glimpse of the same 
young man. The congregation was charmed. 
But this Sunday, the next, and others that 
followed, threw little light on the organist. 
Save that his name was Ralph, even the 
pastor knew little concerning him. But it 
was natural to feel an interest in one, how- 
ever retiring, at whose appeal the slumbering 
organ became a creature full of life, and 
soared and sighed with solemn sweetness. 
Stella frequently found her thoughts wander- 
ing to the stranger. 

It chanced that under the guardianship 
of the chapel was an orphans’ home, where 
Stella’s young mother had passed her child- 
hood days. Stella had formed the habit of 
visiting it on Sunday afternoons, to read and 
talk to a class of children. At this home 
the pastor had arranged one Sunday for a 
devotional service. He had invited the organ- 
ist to attend. Accordingly, as the tranquil 
summer afternoon waned and the hour ap- 
[12] \ 



LITTLE ORPHANS CLUSTERED AROUND STELLA 











































































STELLA 


pointed for the service drew nigh, a tall form 
wended its way along the woodland path that 
led to the home. On the greensward sur- 
rounding the children’s building, in an arbor 
fanned by a fragrant breeze, a young teacher 
had gathered her class. Ralph saw them 
and thought it a pleasing picture — the group 
of little orphans clustered around Stella, as 
beneath the sighing shade trees she sat, 
dressed in simple white. 

The young man passing inquired the en- 
trance to the home. 

“If you have come to attend the children’s 
service,” replied Stella, “we may all go in 
together. It is time.” 

So, followed by the little ones and Ralph, the 
girl led the way to a room full of children, where 
the pastor and others were already waiting. 

At the close of the exercise, as Ralph was 
about taking his leave, the pastor beckoned 
Stella, and said to the organist: 

“Permit me to introduce you to a young 
friend whom I might almost call daughter, so 
dear have been our relations.” 

“I am glad to meet one,” said Stella, 
“whose music has often thrilled me. It must 
[ 13 ] 


STELLA 


be a supreme satisfaction to perform so 
brilliantly. We are highly favored.” 

“I thank you for your compliment,” re- 
turned Ralph, “but you overrate my ability 
to please, and as I make music for recom- 
pense, I hardly earn gratitude.” 

“Delight of that kind,” said Stella, “can- 
not be repaid in dollars and cents; but 1 
fancy that your best reward lies in the love 
of your art, for no one could impart such 
expression to music whose soul was not in it.” 

“I admit that music is my sweetest solace, 
my soothing balm in the troubles of life,” 
said Ralph. 

“Perhaps,” said the pastor, addressing the 
organist, “you will accompany my young 
friend as far as her home. She is without 
her horse to-day.” 

“ I hesitate to become so much of a burden,” 
interposed Stella; “besides, I have a staunch 
old friend in waiting who will afford me 
ample protection.” 

“Hero!” she called. 

As a huge animal bounded into the room 
and laid his head on his mistress’s lap, Stella 
turned to Ralph and asked: 

[ 14 ] 


STELLA 


“Do you not admire my dog?” 

“He is, indeed, a superb fellow. What a 
noble head!” was the answer. “But if you 
will allow me, I shall be glad to share his 
escort, for the afternoon is perfect, and noth- 
ing could be more inviting than a little stroll. 
To say the truth, I feel a trifle lonely these 
quiet days.” 

“I can easily think so,” said Stella. “Your 
company will be appreciated . I usually come on 
horseback, but my pet had lost a shoe to-day 
and I disliked riding her over the rough road.” 

“You are fond of that exercise,” observed 
Ralph, as they started on their walk. “1 
have often seen you galloping by.” 

“I have ridden since a child,” said Stella. 
“Bess is like a cradle. I am never ill, and 
father says I owe my good health to horse- 
back riding. A canter through the woods is 
so refreshing, when the dew sparkles on the 
leaves, or in the cool of the evening. You 
must accompany me some day.” 

“It would be tempting,” said Ralph, “but 
I seldom indulge in recreation of that kind. I 
have neither the means nor, to be frank, the 
inclination. My life of late has been too blue.” 

[ 15 ] 


STELLA 


“That will never do,” said Stella. “The 
blue of life should be in the sky. And yet,” 
she added, “it is easy for me to say so, whose 
life has been a song. I know that there are 
those who in all the year enjoy less of happi- 
ness than I have had in a fleeting day. But 
where is your home?” 

“I have no home,” said Ralph. 

“In a country neighborhood like this,” 
said Stella, “everyone’s affairs are everyone 
else’s. May I ask if it is true that you write 
songs?” 

“I have written songs,” answered Ralph. 

“I should like to see them,” said Stella. 
“Do you compose the music?” 

“I do,” was the reply. “Music is my con- 
soler. I lose myself in it, and for a time forget 
my disappointments.” 

Stella looked up at her companion. It was 
her impulse to ask more, but she refrained. 

They followed the winding lane until a 
sudden bend brought into view Stella’s home. 
A spacious old mansion with ivied veranda, it 
stood, as it were, in a sea of green. 

“Hotv I love my home!” murmured Stella. 
“Do you not think it pretty?” 

[ 16 ] 



THERE IS FATHER WATCHING FOR ME ! ” 



STELLA 


The shadows were lengthened on the stretch 
of velvet lawn, when across it the girl espied 
a familiar figure seated on the porch. Her 
eyes glistened. 

“There is father watching for me!” she 
exclaimed. “He is never quite at ease when 
night falls, if I am away.” 

At the threshold a courtly old gentleman 
rose to greet them. 

“Well, well, Stella!” were his half-chiding 
words. “I thought you had forgotten me to- 
night. It is an hour after tea-time.” 

“Dear father!” cried Stella, with a happy 
laugh and a warm kiss. “You know I could 
not do that. We had a special service this 
afternoon, and I have had a charming walk 
home with most entertaining company.” 

The father extended his hand to Ralph. 

“I thank you for your courtesy,” he said. 
“You must sit with us at tea.” 

“You are hospitable,” returned Ralph. 
“But I have been more than compensated 
for what you call my courtesy and what I 
deem a privilege.” 

“I did not suspect you of being so gallant,” 
said Stella graciously to her guest. “But of 
[ 17 ] 


STELLA 


course you will stay to tea; that is, if you will 
take us as you find us. All our friends do 
that. To such we keep open house.” 

They drew around the old-fashioned mahog- 
any board. Presently the white-haired man 
grew dreamy. 

“This particular hour — the Sunday sunset 
hour — ” said he, “has always seemed dif- 
ferent from any other. It is ever quiet here, 
but to me a sacred hush hallows the close of 
this holy day. It awakens remembrances. 
Sometimes in the twilight’s stillness I hear 
voices — voices of those who used to sit here, 
at the same table, in these very chairs. If all 
the loved ones with whom I have shared this 
antique board were present now, how blissful 
it would be! Memories! They come to me. 
I recall even a Sunday long ago, when my 
little high-chair was drawn back from the 
table by my mother, and I was permitted for 
the first time to occupy what I called a ‘grown 
person’s’ chair — the same in which you now 
sit,” addressing Ralph. “I know it by the 
arm. How lost I felt in it! Daughter has some- 
times desired more modern furniture, but I 
could not part with what we have had so long.” 

[ 18 ] 


STELLA 


“Since I have grown older,” said Stella, 
“I should not wish to change it.” 

“In those days,” continued the father, 
“where I am seated my grandfather sat — an 
aged man, his staff by his side. I remember 
another Sunday, a little later, when I was 
lifted up to look upon him for the last time. 
I see the white, peaceful face and the flowers, 
now. It seems not long ago — yet the time has 
almost come when I shall lie as he lay then.” 

“Father,” murmured a tremulous voice, 
“you know there is one whose heart it breaks 
to hear you speak so.” 

“Yes, yes, my child, but I do not speak 
repiningly. An old man lives in the past, and 
when, at times like this, the dear faces come 
flitting out of it and vanish again, I long to 
follow them — but for you.” 

“You must be more cheerful, father,” said 
Stella. 

“I am quite cheerful,” was the reply. 
“These memories are sweet to me. Some- 
times my thoughts ramble aloud, but I should 
be the last to cast a shadow on you.” 

“You do,” said Stella, “when you talk of 
leaving me. When you go, I want to go, too.” 

[ 19 ] 


STELLA 


As they chatted in the parlor after tea, 
Ralph remarked: 

“ I see that your attachment to the old times 
has not extended to your piano,” surveying a 
fine specimen with interest. 

“We must be modern in that,” said the 
father. “Daughter plays, but I presume she 
feels diffident in the presence of talent like 
yours. Perhaps you will favor us.” 

“With pleasure,” said Ralph. “Unfor- 
tunately, music is my only accomplishment.” 

He rendered sacred selections. 

“Beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed the host. 
“Heavenward your music lifts its wings. It 
carries one away.” 

Later, Stella said to Ralph: 

“Will you not come another evening and 
sing one of your own songs ?” And when the 
young man bade them good-night, her last 
words, spoken smilingly, were : “ How fortu- 
nate that Bess lost her shoe!” 

As Ralph wound his w T ay through the 
ancient pines, a gentler light gleamed for him 
than any the rising moon rayed on his path. 

Stella sat at the window, listening to a whip- 
poorwill, and wondering if the departed visi- 
[ 20 ] 



“beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed the host 















1 


























































STELLA 


tor were fond of the bird, and if, like herself, 
he could imitate its voice and coax it near. 
She wondered if the farmer driving by would 
overtake and hail the recent guest. All night 
the girl dreamed of music. Awakening sud- 
denly toward morning, she found herself 
sitting upright, listening eagerly. 

****** * 

Months elapsed. Stella had seen much 
of the organist, his history learning long 
ago. 

Without brother or sister, a rich man’s son, 
Ralph had passed his earlier days in the busy 
town. Unhampered by necessity of work the 
young man, until well nigh the age of major- 
ity, luxuriously had yielded himself up to a 
love of music. One day the rich father died — 
bankrupt. A pampered mother quickly fol- 
lowed. 

The hitherto bland face of the world wore a 
frown when Ralph, penniless, stepped for- 
ward to earn bread. Music was his resource. 
He secured a position in a city church as 
organist. But Ralph had always taken wine. 
The downfall of his prospects proved a crush- 
[ 21 ] 


STELLA 


ing blow. Ralph turned to the cup as never 
before. The church position slipped from 
him. He found another which failed him, 
too. Obtaining employment grew difficult. 
Now Ralph craved a constant stimulant as he 
went steadily down the hill. 

One night the young man, supperless and 
despondent, entered a notorious resort. A- 
round numerous drinking tables were crowded 
abandoned characters, men and women. 
Ralph called for wine. Thrusting his hand 
into his pocket he found it empty. The floor 
was thronged with dissolute couples dancing 
to an indifferent piano accompaniment. In 
his extremity, Ralph exclaimed: 

“I will play for the price of the wine.” 

The musical instrument was not a bad one. 
As the young man seated himself before it 
the spirituous fire mounted to his brain. He 
swept the keys. Never had he performed 
more brilliantly. They said, one to another: 

“Hear him play!” 

Doubly exhilarated by the applause, the 
musician exclaimed: 

“Shall I sing?” 

“Yes! yes!” was the cry. 

[ 22 ] 


STELLA 


He sang — a little pathetic song — the last 
words to a mother of her dying child. 

A change crept through that riotous hall. 
The leer deserted the eyes of some; the oath 
was mute on the lips of others; the sound of 
revelry ceased. Over the hard visages a soft- 
ened expression stole. A strange chord the 
songster had struck in those sullied breasts. 
They listened to the end, and as the musician 
made his way to the street, a hush prevailed 
in the room. But the pitiful adventure fol- 
lowed Ralph home. The tale reached old 
acquaintances. Stung in pride, Ralph re- 
solved to escape from the scenes and reminders 
of bygone days, and though never so humbly, 
to begin anew. He accepted the position at 
the rural chapel. Thus had begun his new 
life. 

******** 

Winter had flown. The balmy days in 
May had come, with buds unfolding every- 
where. Again it was Sunday — the shadows 
lengthened, the sky resplendent in the west. 

Stella sat with Ralph in the burial ground, 
at her mother’s grave, now redolent of lilies 
[ 23 ] 


STELLA 


watered by a daughter’s own unwearied hand. 

“In these spring days life seems all before 
one,” said Stella. “So once it seemed to 
mother, I often fancy, when I gaze upon her 
faultless features, lifelike in their picture- 
frame; yet at just my age she was laid to rest 
where she is sleeping now. But I never think 
of her as here, even beneath the flowers, but 
always as above, in some bright place, like 
yonder sunset.” 

Stella thought of the days when, only a 
little blithesome child, skipping at her father’s 
side, she had sprinkled violets all over the 
grave, and lifting up to the sky large dreamy 
eyes, even softer than the flowers, had said, 
so childishly and trustingly: “Mamma is 
looking down, and loves the flowers — the 
pretty, pretty flowers.” 

“This is the happiest springtime I have 
ever known,” said Ralph. “I owe it all to 
you. Indeed, I did not suppose the world 
could be so bright. When I think of the sun- 
shine you have shed upon my path, of the kind 
words and the companionship, I cannot be 
grateful enough.” 

“I owe no less to you,” said Stella. 

[ 24 ] 





. 




BY HER MOTHER'S GRAVE 


























* 

























STELLA 


“So different has life seemed since first I 
met you/’ said Ralph, “so changed in all its 
aspect, that if I should lose your friendship I 
could not wish to live. Stella, at your mother’s 
grave, shall you be angry if I ask — May I not 
always be with you?” 

As she listened, long drooping lashes veiled 
the girl’s lustrous eyes. A moment Stella 
was silent. Then lifting a guileless face to 
Ralph : 

“You make me glad,” she said. “The 
hours we have passed together have been to 
me golden hours. I have treasured them, 
every one. The thought of parting would 
make me sad. If you love me, I shall be only 
too happy to have you always with me.” 

Arm in arm, they sauntered homeward. The 
next Sunday they revisited the spot and 
renewed their vows. Many other strolls the 
lovers took while Nature still held her fresh- 
ness of color and mildness of mood. The 
verdure seemed to linger especially for them. 
Their walk often lay among Stella’s acquain- 
tances of the poor. 

“For the fairest June,” the girl would 
sometimes say, “must pass into December. 

[ 25 ] 


STELLA 

There is no lasting delight but that of doing 
good” 

Ralph soon became interested in his sweet- 
heart’s poor, discovering a secret of happiness 
he had not known. It cleared the sky of the 
future; for Stella and Ralph had discussed in 
uncertainty the days to come. 

Ralph determined to prepare for the medi- 
cal profession. A field of usefulness was right 
at hand; for since the days of the kindly old 
man who had ushered Stella into the world, 
there had been no trained physician in that 
neighborhood. 

Stella easily enlisted her father’s interest, 
receiving his willing permission to defray the 
expense of a medical education; for the genial 
old gentleman had liked Ralph. 

So a day came when Stella and Ralph took 
a last stroll. It was a late September after- 
noon. On the morrow Ralph was to journey 
to a distant town. They chose a moss-grown 
woodpath, their favorite walk all summer. 
But though the crickets chirped bravely, the 
green was fading and signs of decay were 
everywhere. 

Stella’s voice was strangely still. 

[ 26 ] 


STELLA 


“I feel depressed,” at length she said. 
“Everything around seems sad. See that 
crimson leaf fluttering to the ground.” 

“I have not seen you in this mood,” said 
Ralph. “You were always so cheerful.” 

“I had not thought,” said Stella, “that 
parting would be so hard. How lonely the 
days will seem! They will not be the old days, 
the days before we met. How happy I have 
been! Ah, yes,” she sighed, “how happy I 
have been! But now I see that parting must 
at some time come to all — the final parting — 
and when I remember that for the pure in 
heart love blossoming here will bloom un- 
dying in Eden above, I feel that for the great 
hereafter we should live. Oh, listen! listen!” 
From deep retreats of the sombre woods, as 
hand in hand, breathing whispers the lovers 
stood, the silver notes of the tuneful thrush 
vied voice with voice in rich reply. 

* * * ***** 

The weeks flew by. Christmas was coming 
with its glad reunions. A very glad meeting 
was expected at the farm; for the medical 
student was coming home. 

[ 27 ] 


STELLA 


“He will be here to-morrow,” said Stella. 
All smiling she held a letter. 

“I am so happy, father,” exclaimed the 
girl, throwing her arms around his neck; “so 
happy I am just a child again. You must see 
a gift I have for him — a painting by my own 
hand. I wished it to be something my very 
own, such a gift as I always have for you. But 
you cannot see yours yet, father; not yours, 
you know.” 

“He will be here to-morrow,” mused Stella, 
looking out at the flying snow, and a shadow 
crossed her face as she saw how dark the 
clouds were. 

To-morrow came — yet darker clouds — the 
mountains foaming with billows of snow 
lashed by an arctic gale. The day wore on. 
Faster flew the fleecy flakes — more fiercely 
raged the storm. The girl at the farm grew 
agitated. 

“He will brave it all,” she moaned. “He 
will come through the storm. He will stray 
from the path in the blinding gale.” 

Then a rare light played in her glorious 
eyes, as she thought: 

“But I know the road’s every turn.” 

[ 28 ] 



TO THE RESCUE 











































■' 







































STELLA 

The strong steed she chose trembled before 
the blast, the forest shrieked, the eagle 
screamed in the swaying pine, but mounting 
unseen, with dauntless Hero in the lead, 
Stella rode to the rescue. 

Landmarks in disguises, familiar objects 
grown strange; now toiling up laborious 
height, now ploughing drift of ravine, guided 
rather by instinct than by the slight hand on 
the rein, sturdy horse, bearing light burden, 
still breasted the storm. Neither beast nor 
bird was abroad this day, but once a distress- 
ful note rent the air, and a dazed hawk, wild 
yet in the loneliness, welcome stranger, brushed 
with tired wing the soft cheek of the rider. 

A mile, a mile, a third long mile! No 
glimpse of the face so longed for, no glad 
familiar cry. The young heart until now 
buoyed up by hope, grew heavy. “Shall I 
see him again! Shall I see him again! ” was 
the wail that wrung it. 

Suddenly the hitherto mute St. Bernard 
lifted up his voice in a loud bay, and with 
frantic leaps the sagacious creature forged 
aside from the main path. At this point, 
back from the road and hidden by brushwood, 
[ 29 ] 


STELLA 


stood a deserted cabin, where on well-remem- 
bered rides Stella and Ralph had often tarried 
to quaff the sparkling water of a mineral 
spring, or to regale themselves with luscious 
berries. From this direction, above the roar 
of the unbridled blast, as if in answer to the 
cry of the dog, a shrill neigh rang out. A 
few more bounds of the great St. Bernard, and 
beneath snowy roof of sheltering cabin, the 
panting, jubilant dog licked the helpless hand 
of the perishing one sought for. 

Thrilled with hope by the frenzied neigh 
of mysterious horse, the distraught rider, 
pressing on in the wake of the untiring dog, 
had urged to yet more strenuous action her 
struggling steed, when louder, shriller, closer 
by, another and yet another neigh! Now a 
sharp turn in the sinuous course of the ardu- 
ous way, and a bypath choked with mammoth, 
still rising banks of snow, deflected to the door 
of the desolate cabin. 

The heart of the rescuer beat fast as along 
this passage she took her trend, and having 
safely surmounted the perilous drifts, the 
girl drew up in front of a shed, under cover of 
which a horse, saddled but riderless, fretting 
[ 30 ] 


STELLA 

at fastenings, awoke the echoes with neigh 
after neigh. Quickly beneath the welcome 
shelter, and close by the restive stranger’s 
side, the mountain maiden secured her steed; 
when forth from the cabin burst the St. Ber- 
nard, Hero, then with a melancholy cry led 
his mistress’s steps, uncertain with dread, to 
the swinging door and across the threshold of 
the dreary hut. 

As the burning eyes of the girl in suspense 
pierced by degrees the doubtful light and 
fearfully scanned obscure objects within, they 
fell upon the figure of the rough-coated dog 
in a remote corner of the room, standing over 
the recumbent, unconscious, yet breathing 
form her yearning arms extended to enfold. 
With conflicting emotions of joy and grief, in 
a moment more a maiden kneeling beside the 
prostrate one detected rise and fall of res- 
piration. 

Hard by the cabin logs of firewood had been 
cleft and stacked for transportation. Frag- 
ments yet remained. Out through the snow 
to the remnants of this pile repaired Stella. 
With dispatch equal to the emergency, piece 
by piece fuel was conveyed within the cabin 

[ 31 ] 


STELLA 


and heaped upon the frigid hearthstone. 
Matches ignited bits of tinder; the strong 
wind in the flue swept up the flames; and 
presently the gruesome refuge resounded with 
the inspiriting roar of the wide-mouthed 
chimney. Then from the near saddle-pouch 
was borne on feet with wings a cordial that 
loving forethought had provided. 

Revived by the potent draught, adminis- 
tered by no inapt hand, the slumberer heard 
sound as of music, mellifluous sound of a 
familiar voice, a voice of bygone happy days, 
calling: 

“Ralph, Ralph, awaken, Ralph!” 

Slowly the heavy eyelids lifted — a moment 
only — then dropped again. Once more the 
languid orbs opened, and now, fixed on the 
face of the sweet deliverer, kindled with a 
joyful light. A willowy figure, bending down, 
touched with lips too glad for utterance a 
brow; then to the generous saddle-pouch a 
second time repairing, returned with nour- 
ishment. 

By the friendly offices of fire and food, 
Stella had thought to reseat in saddle the 
exhausted one, and by his side, supporting, 
[ 32 ] 



OUT INTO SNOW AND EACH OTHER’S ARMS 






.. 




















STELLA 


safely to reach the harbor-home. But courage 
forsook when he, to whom her heartstrings 
clung, though cheered by the sound of her 
hopeful voice and soothed by the touch of the 
dear one’s hand, yet strove in vain to rise. 
Then, as the shooting flames wearied of sport 
and dismembered firebrands shrivelled away, 
between welfare of sweetheart and thought of 
self, Ralph hesitated not. With supreme 
effort, seizing the precious, promised hand: 

“Fly, sweetheart!” he gasped, “while yet 
you may. For me, it is too late. Fly! fly! 
away! away!” 

But his companion in distress heeded not. 
Torn with anguish, her spirit was lifted above 
the clouds in speechless supplication. Now a 
calm overspread the girl’s agony of face, and 
from lips without tremor fell the resolute 
words : “ For better or worse our lots are one.” 

Supply of fuel at length exhausted, the 
last of the logs was reduced to embers, the 
dwindled coals were growing gray; but while 
the voice of the chimney had steadily abated, 
that of the elements waxed ever more strong, 
as faster and faster in rushing chariot drove 
the trumpet-tongued tempest his flying team. 

[33] 


STELLA 


Already dread nightfall was stalking abroad, 
shrouding with sable the waste of white, when 
with the warning only of a single cry, the St. 
Bernard sentinel, keen of ear, cleared at a 
bound the floor of the cabin, and hurling his 
weight against worm-eaten window-sash and 
shutter, was lost to view in the outer gloom. 
An icy draught flooded the refuge — a well- 
nigh demented watcher sprang up. Faint, 
faint, and yet distinct, on pinions of the mighty 
wind, a song, a song! Ah, rapturous song! 
Bells! bells! bells! 

“Oh, thanks to God!” From a breaking 
heart the words burst forth. Bells! bells! 
bells! sleigh bells! 

******* * 

In the cheerful warmth of fireside at home, 
a parent had remarked with grave concern the 
absence strange of a daughter dear; then 
with insight unerring had divined her motive 
in vanishing thus as if rapt by the storm. 
Wrought up to a degree by the extremity of 
peril to which his darling was exposed, in 
the briefest time an elderly father had manned 
with a crew loyal and hardy, a huge covered 
[ 34 ] 


STELLA 


sleigh ; then with portable heater having 
equipped the same, was overriding a sea of 
white rollers, behind teams of strong horses 
led by the mate of the invincible charger that 
had borne the daughter of the house away. 

No doubt existed concerning the route, and 
the rescue band pushed steadily on, eagerly 
expectant, at each turn in the road, of sighting 
a steed doing battle with the elements in 
obedience to a mistress’s voice and hand. 
But corners were rounded and milestones 
passed by, yet no such glad spectacle bright- 
ened the eye. At length the critical point was 
reached where the bypath ran to the refugees’ 
cabin. But unnoticed the spot was slipping 
by, with no searchlight revealing the daughter 
so near, no hint of her heartrending plight, 
when out of the drifts resounded a cry, and 
shaking his tawny coat, powdered with white, 
sprang the life-saver. Hero. The overjoyed 
father would have encircled with arms the 
neck of the dog; but barking vociferously 
and wheeling about, the animal sprang away; 
then, followed by foam-flecked horses and 
sleigh, retraced the path by which he had 
come. 


[ 35 ] 


STELLA 


Through the monster drifts a short dis- 
tance seemed long, but outlying shed and 
forsaken shanty, with window gaping and 
insecure door, were reached at last. 

Bells ! bells ! bells ! Loud breathing of 
horses! Sound of men’s voices! Jingle of 
bells! Out of sleigh sprang a father! Out 
of door flew a daughter ! Out into snow and 
each other’s arms! Then tears on smooth 
face and tears on face furrowed, commingled, 
as, cheek pressed to cheek, unrebuked they 
coursed down. 

* * * * * * * * 

That night, before blazing hearthstone at 
home, where wrathful voice of tempest with- 
out was drowned by roar of fire within, a 
father and a daughter sat. Dreamily, in the 
light of the leaping flames, on a cushiony 
couch another lay — one whom love had 
snatched from lion’s jaws as in lion’s den he 
had lain that day. Now a head crowned with 
white and a head with no silver were bending 
while hearts in thanksgiving were lifted on 
high. 

* * * ***** 
[ 36 ] 



<< 


I COULD NOT LEAVE YOU LONGER ALONE 






STELLA 


Christmas again, and once again — then 
fleeting months, till April rainbows, flowers 
of May and month of the bride — June ! Chimes 
of bells! bells! wedding bells! Within the 
walls of the ornate chapel a company of 'well- 
wishers sat, awaiting entrance of bride and 
groom. Presently, before the venerable pas- 
tor a youthful couple stood. Could eye of 
flesh discern a visitant from the spirit land, 
perchance it would have beheld a white-winged 
mother, hovering near, with hand outstretched 
to bless the bride. Kisses for bride — good 
wishes for groom — shower of rice, and the 
pair had flown. 

* * * * * if: if: jfc 

That evening an elderly father sat in his 
wonted chair at the old-fashioned board, 
spread to-night with every dainty, and decked 
with blooms the choicest a daughter could 
command — but a face was missing. Delicate 
viands tempted not. Heavy at heart, to a 
seat on the porch the parent repaired, where 
the companionship of the now absent one had 
beguiled so many moonlight hours, and where, 
on only the previous eve, hand in hand the 
[ 37 ] 


STELLA 


twain had sat, reluctant even for a season to 
part. Fast flying hours, sunset again, the 
father again at the lonely board. 

Sounds of wheels on the driveway! Steps 
on the walk! Two faces at the door! Wide 
open the arms of a father flew! Within their 
fold a daughter lay. 

“I could not leave you longer alone,” fell 
accents sweet on the parent’s ear. “Last 
night in dreams I saw you. When the sun 
was high I sang the song: 

“‘Home, sweet home, 

There is no place like home.’ ” 

One white arm encircled the parent, the 
other around the husband twined. Then 
from the lips of a father rose the voice of 
praise : 

“Thus far the Lord hath led me on, 

Thus far His power prolongs my days; 

And every evening shall make known 
Some fresh memorial of His grace.” 


MAR 2 iStO 






% 


* 


One copy del. to Cat. Div. 

fcliAK 2 IS1C 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




